


When We're Shaking

by notyourmartyr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dominant Sam, Heavy Dirty Talk: Mention of Fisting, M/M, Mild BDSM themes, Pining Dean, Possessive Sam, Praise, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform, mild spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourmartyr/pseuds/notyourmartyr
Summary: Dean's been keeping one secret for Sammy for a very long time. When that secret comes out one drunken night, Dean runs to clear his head. When Sam finds him, he figures maybe he shouldn't have run after all.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 132





	When We're Shaking

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I wrote this two years ago and never posted it. IDK if I ever intended to post it, but eh. Might as well. Please enjoy.

You can take the Hunter out of the life, but you can't take the life out of a Hunter. He knew that. He'd experienced it first hand. Once you knew about things that went bump in the night, you knew, and it was hard to go back to normal. He'd checked in on old cases in the past, to make sure they weren't repeat targets, that they hadn't missed something, but all he saw were nervous people who couldn't explain why they salted their doors and windows to guests, or why they started cooking with cast iron - a smart move if he were honest. If they saw him, there was a moment of fear in their eyes, before they'd steel themselves and find a way to approach, telling him of all the _suspicious_ activity they'd seen. 

Nine times out of ten, they were just paranoid, but he checked it out anyway. 

The ones who weren't paranoid ended up like Jody and Claire. They weren't Hunters - not really, but they helped. And in some cases, wanted to be. 

It was rare that a civilian ever made the transition. Rarer still was a Hunter who retired. If they didn't die young, they stayed in the game until they couldn't anymore. 

He'd tried, in the past. He knew why retirement didn't work, why things with Lisa didn't work. In the end, the road called, he searched papers for hunts he didn't take. Which was why signing the lease agreement - under an assumed name of course - felt like a lie. It was, of course, but the fact that he wasn't James Remmington really didn't bother him as much as the fact that the lease was for the year, and Dean knew he'd be lucky to make six months. 

Putting on his most charming smile, he stood, shaking the leasing agents hand. This was never going to work, but at the very least, he'd get a decent vacation out of it. 

\-------

He woke up to silence. That was the first tell that something was off. No breathing from beside him, or from the other bed, which looked virtually pristine, the bedding at the foot disturbed from sitting on the edge to lace a boot or tug on a sock, but otherwise nothing. 

They'd stopped in the little motel to sleep between cases. They'd both been drunk, but he remembered. Soft lips, firm flesh. 

He could still see the car through the blinds, and let out a breath he'd been holding. If Baby was still here, so was Dean. He'd probably just stepped out to grab them both a coffee. Running a hand over his face, he got up, about to shower when he noticed. The car might still be outside, but Dean's bag wasn't anywhere in sight. He knew his brother well enough to know there's no way he'd loaded up without waking Sam. 

Dean was gone. 

\-------

The little town he'd picked in the middle of nowhere wasn't half bad. He'd managed to have a job waiting - the local mechanic was looking to retire from actual labor and didn't trust the kids who helped out to run the place alone. Dean had been a blessing, the old man had told him, more than willing to leave the shop in his hands after a week or two. 

The kid wasn't dumb, just a little irresponsible, and the minute he started working under Dean, there was improvement. He wanted to impress him, that much was obvious, and there was a pang in his guts - it reminded him of Sam. 

But Sam was probably out working another case, probably looking for him on the side, but he'd been careful not to leave a trail. After what had happened, he needed time to think. 

There wasn't a part of him that thought it was more than a matter of time before his genius brother showed up on his doorstep. He just hoped it wasn't any time soon. 

Running wasn't like him. He wasn't a coward. He faced his problems head on, always had. With one exception. He didn't do well with emotional crap, and that was the territory they'd been heading into. 

He'd been doing so good for so long, burying everything deep, passing it off as just being a little too close, too devoted to the only family he had left. 

It was okay that he loved Sammy _that_ way. Anything beyond that wasn't okay, and he knew it. But it haunted him. He'd tried, pushed Sam to be with other people, been happy, even when he was jealous. He'd even tried to lose himself in the flavor of the week. 

Sam had always cringed, especially before Stanford, before Jess - had told Dean he was going to end up with some disease or another. If Dean were honest, he didn't really see the problem there. It would probably help him in the end, stiffen his resolve. 

Time had pushed and pulled them. There were moments he thought that maybe Sam knew. Kid was always smart. But this? This was something Dean didn't speak of, too anyone. Even himself. The closest he _ever_ got was that confession. He didn't name names, no one knew, well, not really. And there was no way Sam could have known about that. 

Not that the priest had given him any good advice there anyway. Just spouted off about how he needed to have faith, that it would comfort him. Didn't tell him anything about the road he needed to follow. 

So he'd shoved everything back down.

He lied to himself and said he didn't know why it happened, didn't know what brought it on. But he knew. Alcohol had a way of loosening people up, and he wasn't a lightweight, but he'd been exhausted, they'd been celebrating. 

A few beers in, Sam's hand had been on his thigh, and he'd been smiling - a wide, easy smile that Dean hadn't seen his brother wear in what felt like forever. He wasn't sure what carne over him, they'd done this far too many times to count, but he leaned in, whispered in Sam's ear, “ _Let’s go back to the room, baby boy._ “ 

And Sam? He'd fucking blushed like a goddamn virgin, and just nodded. He may have whispered, “ _Okay, Dean,_ ” but he didn't remember, just remembered pulling his little brother off the stool and out the door. 

He'd be lying if he said he didn't remember what happened back at the room. The way Sam's skin had felt under his hands, his lips against his, his cock.

But that's where Sam had stopped him, told Dean to slow down, they had plenty of time. Asked if Dean would just let him hold him for the night. 

And he'd just nodded, gave in and let Sam curl them up in bed. He'd been fucking little spoon. 

But they didn't have plenty of time. Didn't Sam see that? With his brother out like a light behind him, and the alcohol wearing off, Dean saw it clear as day, knew that years of trying, of struggle were down the drain. 

And he couldn't face Sam. His baby brother would either freak out in the morning, or act like it was perfectly normal. 

Of course, while Sam was the genius, Dean wasn't an idiot either, despite how he acted. He'd done research a long time ago. His love, devotion, _obsession_ with Sammy made sense, all things considered. Sam was safe. He didn't have to worry about Sam the way he did an outsider. He could trust him. He was... _home_ , but Dean was more than willing to give that up for the sake of doing right by Sam. 

Which was why he was lounging in the little furnished apartment, nursing a beer, and watching bad soap operas on tv. Sam never understood the appeal of Dr. Sexy, but the guy looks tall, and the hair. It's always been a little bit about the hair, hair that reminds him of Sam in some ways. He's not even thinking when his hand gently cups over his stiff length through his shorts - it's been a while, and damn it, it's _his_ apartment and no one's here to see him, so why not? He gives a slow squeeze, before slipping his shorts down just enough, shuddering. 

It's gonna be a good day off. 

\--------

Dean's good. He's using a name Sam's never seen him use, in a small town he'd never think to look in, but one of his contacts swears he saw Dean, and he's not about to think they're wrong. Leave no stone unturned. 

He's pissed, and if he's honest, a little scared that Dean ran like that. Leaving Baby is serious. Leaving at all is serious. He tries not to think about why and just pulls up to the garage. When Dean isn't there he feels a rush of panic in his chest until the kid he's talking to says something about it being his day off. 

That's right, he's got an address for an apartment too. Nodding at the kid, he thanks him, before taking off, tension in his shoulders. Dean isn't worming his way out of this. Not easily anyway. The short drive is long enough for resolve to set in. He knows his brother, knows he isn't going to want to talk about this, is honestly going to want to slam the door in his face, but they're going to _talk_ , and he's going to convince Dean to come home. 

He's still thinking about it when he climbs the stairs to his brother's door, taking a deep breath before knocking. He may be pissed, but he's got enough manners to do that much for Dean. He can hear Dr. Sexy through the door and doesn't know how he feels about the fact that he recognizes the show from the muffled sounds. 

He does, however, relax when he hears Dean’s irritable call of, “ _Just a sec._ ”

\------

He's not even really paying attention to the show anymore, lazily stroking himself, somewhere between a fantasy of the fictional doctor and roads he's never going to travel when he hears the knock. Only a bare minimum of people know where he lives, so he figures it's the hot yoga instructor who lives next door bringing him something - he's still not sure why she does that, but he's not gonna turn down the free food - so he tucks himself away and doesn't bother with pants, “Just a sec.”

If he takes a second to _fix_ his hair before he opens the door, he'll never tell anyone, swinging the door open with a wide grin that falters when he sees Sam - his erection doesn't. In fact, the traitor in his shorts twitches at the pissed look on Sam's face, even as he's shutting the door. _Nope._

But Sam expected it, bitch, and he's pushing one of those gigantor hands against the door, pushing it back in and crowding Dean’s space. There's nothing Dean can really do where they are except back into his apartment and let Sam in. He's waiting for a lecture, and his brother looks about ready to deliver one, but relief flickers across his expression and as soon as the door is behind him - shut _and_ locked - he's hugging Dean tight to him, strong arms and large hands keeping him locked in place. 

He can't help but squirm when the hug goes on too long, brushing his still traitorous cock against the solid, immovable rock that is Sam Winchester, and he bites back a groan at the friction, feels Sam smirk against his shoulder. 

The lecture he was expecting goes out the window as he's pressed against the wall, his brother's lips claiming his mouth and _fuuck,_ when did Sam get so damn possessive. One of those fucking massive hands moves between them, gripping his dick through his shorts just hard enough it's painful, and Sam chuckles darkly at the whine before he manages, “I oughtta make you go take a cold shower. Not let you fucking come after the stunt you pulled, Dean.” 

There's another tug to his dick before his brother adds, “Why don't you convince me to be generous?”

Something like fear flickers in Dean’s eyes at the instruction, and if he could he'd be moving away but Sam's got him pinned and a vice grip on his dick and it's filthydirtywrong but Dean's never felt something so _right._ The vein along the underside of his shaft pulses against Sam's hand to the rhythm of his too fast heartbeat and he doesn't know what Sam wants from him, breath catching and he's a _Hunter_ but he's never been more scared in his life than he is when Sam's thumb rubs up against the sensitive head and he's arching into the touch even when his stomach twists and his mind screams yes and no and he can't tell which voice is louder, but the only voice that his brother hears is a strangled, “Sammy.”

The hand that's torturing him doesn't move, but the one boxing him in does, the touch a caricature of gentleness, thumb rubbing against his jaw, Sam’s lips mirroring the gesture on the other side of his face, “Easy, it's okay. I got you Dean. I got you.”

He trusts him. Even when they weren't on the best of terms, he's always trusted Sam in one way or another, but he's never trusted him with this. His brain's finally starting to catch up, though, and it's like he's just now realizing that _Sam_ kissed him and _Sam_ is touching him and _Sam_ is right there with his hand on _Dean’s dick_ practically jerking him off and he wants to. He wants to convince Sam to be generous, whatever it takes, _aches_ for forgiveness. His breathing drops from panic to just aroused, and he nods, a little surprised when Sam steps back from him, gestures to the couch, and he just wants Sam's hands back on him, but he nods, and moves to sit, shifting awkwardly. 

Raising a brow, Sam watches from the doorway, before moving over to sit next to Dean, making a point of keeping his posture relaxed but impressive, imposing on Dean’s space when he puts a hand on his brother's knee, leaning in for another kiss. He takes his time, hand rubbing soothingly over Dean’s thigh, the fear of the older man bolting out of his system now. There's still a sense of heat to the kiss, of urgency as he all but manhandles Dean’s head into the position he wants, coerces his mouth with his tongue.

When his hand smooths down Dean’s neck he's pleasantly surprised by the shudder. He'd always known his brother was responsive, and a giver when it came to sex, but this is beyond his expectations, and when his brother's hand finds his own thigh, he lightly nips his lip in approval, voice built on gravel as he coaxes, “Go on. Doing so good for me, Dean.”

There's still uncertainty in Dean’s eyes when he blinks the fog away to look at Sam, biting his lower lip and fighting the urge to tell him to stop. He doesn't _want_ to stop, but they need to. He should. They shouldn't be doing this, but he just leans in, nuzzles - affectionate and touch starved - and lets his hand move over Sam's thigh to his crotch, palming him gently. 

Another murmured praise leaves Sam's lips before they're on his again, and fuck, his brother has talented hands. He wants to melt under the attention, but tries to focus on getting belt and jeans undone, chasing Sam's lips with a soft sound when he pulls back. 

“‘S okay, Dean. Let's just relocate. You got a bed in this place?” his brother asks, voice gentle and in control. He’s not sure how Sam has so much control while he's spinning so far out of it, but he just nods, gesturing with his free hand - because the other is still busy trying to worm itself into Sam's pants, until his wrist is caught, and gently pulled away. 

Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Winchester. The way this is going, he's going to get to stroke that monster of a cock, and probably more too, but he has to focus. Another nod, and Sam's tugging him up, jeans perched precariously on his hips as he walks them back the short hall to his bedroom, before stopping just inside the door. 

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of Dean’s shirt, tugging him just a little closer before Sam asks, “Do you trust me?”

He wants to just nod, doesn't trust his voice, but Sam's eyes on him are demanding a verbal answer, so he chokes out, “Always, Sammy.”

It's clearly what Sam needed to hear, because he tugs Dean’s shirt over his head, and backs them the rest of the way into the room, stopping just short of the bed before curling his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s shorts, “Take these off for me and get on your knees.”

He wasn't expecting that, and it takes him a moment to process, but he's complying after the first part comes through. It’s not the first time he's given head, and a part of him is more than excited. His own erection bobs when it's freed, before he settles on his knees, shifting until he finds a comfortable position and looking up at Sam. 

His brother's removed his own shirt while he was busy, but that's it, and the fingers of one hand tangle in his hair while the other pulls his cock free and _fuck_ that's hot. His jaw goes a bit slack and he licks his lips, leaning in and wrapping his lips around the head. 

Sam's laugh dies in a moan, and his grip tightens, while Dean gives him the best blow job he's ever had, and maybe he's biased because it's his big brother and he's been in love with him for as long as he can remember and he's fantasized about this since he knew what sex was, but it's so much better, and it's so hard not to just hold Dean’s head steady and fuck his mouth - he's going to, but not today. No, he's going to need to act fast and divert Dean’s focus if he wants things to go according to his plans today. 

He lets Dean work him over for just a little while longer before he's tugging at his hair, tugging him up from the floor. He kisses him again once he's up, gripping him by the ass and pulling him closer, hips rolling to give them both just a little more friction before gently shoving Dean onto the bed. His grip moves to Dean’s hips, as his brother tries to shift and scramble, and he shakes his head, pulling and twisting until he has him right where he wants him. 

Dean's blushing to his ears when he chances a glance back at Sam, nerves bubbling in his stomach as he takes on the hungry eyes moving over him, but he's _not_ the bitch here, and he whines, “C’mon, baby boy. Don't you wanna suck my cock?”

There's not a lot about sex that's dignified, but he lets out a yowl when Sam's hand comes down on his ass, mumbling, “ _Traitor_ ,” under his breath when his length not only twitches at the attention, but leakes pre-come.Sam notices, of course, and reaches one hand down to stroke over Dean slowly, coaxing more from him with an expertise that Dean _doesn't_ want to know where he learned, leaving him whimpering and squirming when he takes his hand away. 

There's another smack to his ass, before Sam leans up over him, pressing against him in all the right places and damn it, Dean rolls his hips back into Sam's cock and earns another swat as Sam growls, “Be still.” It's hard, especially because Sam's fucking hot like this, and Dean never knew he needed it, but he stills, breath catching when he feels Sam rubbing a Dean-slick finger over his hole. 

He's not a _virgin_ , but the last time something was inside him was forever ago, he's died and been brought back at least twice since then, and the toy had been nowhere _near_ Sam's size, in length or girth. Not only that, but the person who had taken Dean didn't have the size or strength he knows Sam's going to put behind it. He can't help but shudder as the muscles finally give way, and he finally realizes Sam's talking, voice low in his ear as he works Dean open with slow, talented movements. “You're not in charge here, Dean, and I'm going to take you apart, and then put you back together, but you ran from me, so I'm going to make sure you're not going to be doing much of that any time soon so we can _talk_ about this when I'm through with you. Do you understand?”

He nods, uncertain of what else Sam said, but he does. The single finger is doing its job, and he's squirming. He needs more, and he shifts some, voice soft because fuck he's begging and he knows it, “More, please Sammy.”

He can _feel_ his brother smirk, before there's a press of a second finger at his hole. It doesn't breach though, and Sam mutters a curse under his breath before pulling back, Dean’s body seeking him out with a soft whine. A large hand soothes over his ass, settling some when he hears, “Just grabbing the lube, baby. Relax for me. “

He mumbles something, looking back at Sam, his brother's brow raising, “What was that?”

Cheeks flushing, he chokes out, “‘M not the baby.” No, that's Sam. His _baby_ brother. The thought should make him feel sick, but it just sends a thrill through him. His baby brother, his Sammy, is so fucking domineering it's enough to make him dizzy. Or maybe that's just from Sam taking too damn long to get back to work. 

It feels like forever before Sam's over him again, Dean’s body relaxing into the touch as lube slick fingers find their way back to his hole. Sam doesn't waste as much time with just one finger as before, quickly transitioning to two, and Dean moans, knows he's supposed to be still, but rocks back into the touch, because fuck Sam found it and he feels like he's gonna come. 

“That's it, Dean. Just feel it. Feels good, doesn't it?” he says, but he's not really asking. He knows it does, his tone smug and fingers stretching him out carefully. 

Sam's proportional. Sure, everything about him _feels_ oversized, giant, but it's all in perfect proportion, so when he works a third, thick finger into Dean, he's quietly grateful, because even with this much attention to prep, Sam's going to split him open. There's going to be some burn, but he deserves it. That's what he gets for running. Sam's being generous. 

He tenses when he feels the brush of a fourth finger against his hole, and Sam chuckles, smoothing his free hand over Dean’s back, “I'm not going to, not today, anyway, but one of these days, Dean… one of these days I'm going to tie you down and work you open slowly.” He pauses, but just from the way he says it there's more to that sentence, and Dean licks his lips, glancing over to his brother expectantly, before he finishes, “And you're going to take my fist, brother. You're going to come with my fist deep inside, working over your prostate until you're dry and begging me to stop.” 

The thought should scare him but fuck, the way Sam says it and the glint in his eye has Dean nodding. Sam wants it. Wants to see his hand disappear into Dean’s hole, be swallowed up and clenched tight, and Dean realizes with a shudder that he wants it to. He’s already in love with just three of Sam's fingers teasing him, body arching when they twist and find all the right places, and he can't even begin to imagine how _more_ would feel. If he opens his mouth, though, he's going to be begging Sam to do it now, but his brother is shifting, working his jeans and shorts down finally, lubing up his cock and he's _bare_ , and fuuck. Dean moans at the sight. Sam's gonna fuck him bare. 

There's a glint in Sam's eye at the moan, and he strokes himself for show, hips rolling into his fist as he watches Dean. “If you're a good boy, I'll fill you up. Let you milk my cock when you come on it, baby.” He lets it go this time because damn Sam knows all the filthy, dirty things to say that make him wanna beg, put him in his place. 

He loses sight of his brother when he moves into position behind him, shuddering in anticipation and barely stopping himself from arching back when Sam teases the head of his cock over his hole. “But if you can't be good, you're not going to get to come. I'll stop, and make you listen while I paint your ass white and send you to shower before I put you over my knee.”

He teases again, pressing in slowly, just the tip breaching before he's pulling back out and Dean wants to chase the feeling so bad, but he trembles in place and begs, “Please, Sammy. Please, I'm sorry. I just needed to think, please.”

Which is true. He did need to think, except maybe not. Maybe he just needed Sam to do _this._ To make him take what they're both dying for. Sam nods, grips Dean’s hips with one hand, the other guiding his cock as he presses in, voice gentle, “I know, it's okay. I forgive you Dean.” If he was going to say anything else, Dean doesn't know because his words break into a moan as Dean’s body clings to him, opening around his cock but tight like a vice. When he bottoms out, he presses himself along Dean’s back, nuzzling against him, breathing. 

He stays still long enough that Dean gets impatient, muscles clenching just a little and squirming beneath him. Sam rolls his hips in response, soothing through his hair, “Relax. I'm going to fuck you in a second. You just feel so good. So good for me Dean.” So he breathes deep and relaxes, eyes closing, soft sounds escaping when Sam shifts, grinding his hips against Dean as if he can get deeper, before finally lifting himself from Dean just a little, pulling out slowly. 

Dean whines, a deep moan pulled from him as Sam thrusts back in. It doesn't take long for Sam to build up to a punishing pace, slamming into his brother's welcome heat and drawing punched out sounds of pleasure from him. “So good, take my cock so well. Such a good boy Dean.”

He keens at the praise, cock twitching as Sam presses between his shoulders, gets him to lower his chest, changing the angle just enough that Sam's drilling his prostate with every thrust and Dean all but sobs, leaking pre-come like a faucet. He doesn't even realize he's begging at first, voice taking a moment to register as his own, “Please, Sammy. Lemme come. Need to come. Wanna come on your cock.”

He's reaching to stroke himself when Sam delivers a particularly hard thrust, the action accompanied by a growl and he tugs Dean’s hand away, pinning it to the bed, “You can come, baby, but no touching. You only get to come on my cock. Show me how good you can be Dean.”

It's harder, without anything around his length, and he whimpers, but he can feel it slowly building, and nods, breath hitching as Sam's pace changes, jackrabbiting into him with the intent of driving him to orgasm. The pressure builds quicker, and his back bows as he spills into the sheets beneath him, clenching tight around Sam as he cries out. 

But Sam doesn't let up, just fucks him through it until he's spilling deep into Dean, warmth spreading through him and he's boneless, held up by the death grip Sam has on his hips. When he feels the final twitch, he sighs, aching as Sam lowers him to the bed, pulling out slowly and moving to be big spoon behind Dean. 

They need to talk, but Dean’s exhausted. It's the best sex he's ever had, but he's pretty sure Sam's control of him stops there, until his brother presses a kiss to his neck and whispers, “Take a nap. I'm not going anywhere.”


End file.
